


Swipe Right

by onebatch2batch



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: AU in which Karen is still working at the Bulletin, F/M, and they're both on Tinder, because you know what why not, but Frank is in construction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: "Karen, 26. Journalist with an intense love for whiskey, pencil skirts, and creating her own narrative. Dick pics unwelcome—tell me something interesting about yourself instead." Tinder AU





	Swipe Right

**Author's Note:**

> As always, Bree is a literal gift of a human being and turned this into something that's actually readable. Show her some love on tumblr! (@frankcastlestanktop)

 

Karen Page is a loner. She has been ever since a semi-truck collided with her brother’s pick up outside of Fagan Corners and sent him flying through the windshield.  

On the day of Kevin’s funeral, she stood over his grave and promised herself two things: one, she would never set foot in Vermont again; two, she would never let another life (or death) affect her again. A week later she moved into her New York apartment and never looked back.   
  
These days (try as she might to dissuade them) she finds some people are able to push past  the walls she built around herself. Turns out even a loner needs friends.

It’s to people like Trish Walker and Jessica Jones that she unloads her insecurities on, voicing secret thoughts that blossom in her mind. When Karen sees a couple hand-in-hand on a city sidewalk, or when she catches the tail-end of Hallmark movies, fear (loneliness) whispers to her. Fear that she’s made a mistake; that outside her small circle of friends, she’s setting herself up for a life of distance, of loneliness, or sadness. That she’ll never be one of those happy people walking down the street.  

“Why don’t you join one of those dating apps?” Trish hedges, as if she doesn’t ask the same thing every time Karen’s self-imposed independence is brought up.

Karen groans. She’s well into her third beer of the night, and she picks at the label. “What, so I can get killed and stuffed into a trash bag?”

Jess returns from the bar, a tray of shots in hand. She sits, perking at their topic of conversation. “You trying to get her into Tinder again, Trish? That shit never works.”

“That’s how I met Jacob,” Trish defends. “He was nice for a while!”

Jess passes out the shots, giving her an amused stare. “Didn’t you break up with him after….what, a month?”

“Well, …we decided we were better as…casual friends.”

Jess’ drink sloshes dangerously with the force of her laugh. “Don’t you mean _fuck buddies_?”

Karen laughs, then frowns as Trish swipes her phone off the table. “Hey!”

“I’m making you a profile,” Trish announces, shooting Jess a glare. “Find a _casual friend_ \- or a boyfriend. Or just someone to pass the time. You can’t be alone forever, Karen.”

“No promises,” Karen answers before throwing back the rest of her beer.

\--

Frank Castle has a pretty good life, all things considered. He’s got two beautiful kids, an ex-wife he gets along with, and friends who look out for him. Sometimes, though, that makes the loneliness even worse. The idea that he has all of these things, but no one to share them with.

He watches Sarah and David at the kitchen table sharing conspiratory whispers. Their kids (and his own) are somewhere upstairs making the happy racket of children getting along. Frank leans against the counter as familiar feelings creep up: uncertainty and wrongness. The sensation of something missing. Sarah lets out a soft laugh. Frank slips out into the backyard unnoticed.

It’s a warm summer night. Frank takes a seat on the top step of the porch and tilts his beer to his lips. Of course he’s grateful; for these dinners; that his kids have such good friends their age; for David and Sarah’s friendship. But sometimes it’s all just more reminder of what he’s missing.   
  
His divorce from Maria was amicable. Three years later,  Frank wonders if he’ll have it in him to do all that again: meet someone, bear his soul, build another life. Nights like this remind him that he’s not built to be alone, as much as he hides in it.

“There you are,” David’s voice is just over his shoulder.

Frank glances back. “Just needed some air.”

David makes a small noise of disbelief but says nothing. The silence that follows is loaded, and eventually Frank sighs. He can practically hear David thinking.   
  
“What.”

“Nothing! I mean, I was just thinking…have you thought about getting back into dating?”

Frank replies with silence and a flat look. This is a conversation they’ve had before; David insists Frank should date again, Frank tells him he’s not ready, and then they drop it.   
“What do you want, Lieberman? Tired of me being the third wheel? Want me to meet some nice girl, bring her to dinner?”

David rolls his eyes. “Well not all at once, Casanova.”

“No thanks.”

“Oh come on, man! How long has it been since you’ve actually dated?” David frowns, crossing his arms over his knees. “Are you still hung up on Maria?”

Frank grimaces. “No, I’m not. I’m just—I’m not interested in that shit anymore.”

There’s a pause where David examines him - he knows Frank is lying. Finally, he asks, “Well why not?”

Frank takes a drink of his beer, uncomfortable. He hates the way David looks at him like a puzzle to be solved. Like if he puts in the right password, he can download all Frank’s insecurities. Frank digs in his pocket for his phone, for a distraction, but David snatches it out of his hand. “What the hell you doin’?”

“I’m making you a Tinder.”

“I’m not usin’ that,” Frank protests.

David rolls his eyes and turns back to Frank’s phone. In the house, Sarah calls the kids to wash up before dinner.   
  
“Just because you’re divorced doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have fun. Just find someone to talk to. Maybe it’ll turn into something worthwhile and _you'll_ turn into less of an asshole.”

“Not likely,” Frank scoffs. “If I do date—it ain’t gonna be on _Tinder_. Isn’t that for…college kids?”

“Nah.” David’s fingers fly over the touch screen. “Sarah’s friend found her husband on there. I’m telling you—it’s going to be work, but there are some good women out there.” David eyes him critically. “Even though I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to women normally. Not like you can’t pull.”

Frank rubs his temples. They’ve been talking about this about ten minutes longer than he ever wanted. “Lieberman--…”

“Ah, ah! Done. Just try it.”

Frank opens his mouth, but the next moment Sarah pokes her head out the back door with a flustered look. “Alright, you two. These kids are driving me nuts. Time to eat. Let’s go!”

David clasps his shoulder and follows his wife inside. Frank shoves his phone into his pocket and vows to delete the app later.

\--

Karen stares down at her phone with a frown.

It’s been a week since Trish made her a Tinder account and Karen has studiously avoided it. She doesn’t have the heart to delete it, but she hasn’t even tried it, either. The app is hidden away in a folder that includes guilty pleasures like Candy Crush. The profile has been on her mind all week. When she’s alone on the subway or eating lunch alone in the park she pictures opening up app and throwing caution to the wind.

It’s her living room that finally prompts her to jump in. Watching the fifth episode of something she isn’t paying attention to as the room grows darker and colder. Emptier. And then her phone appears in her hand. Karen opens the app and clicks on her profile, telling herself it’s more out of curiosity than anything.

It reads: _Karen, 26_. _Journalist with an intense love for whiskey, pencil skirts, and creating her own narrative. Dick pics unwelcome—tell me something interesting about yourself instead._

Karen pauses, biting back a grin. As much as she hates the idea of being on something like Tinder, she appreciates the accuracy. Trish had picked a couple different pictures for the profile—one of Karen hunched over her keyboard, lost in thought; a candid of her in an evening gown from a work event; and one selfie of Karen, Jess, and Trish in a club bathroom.

Before she can convince herself not to, Karen clicks the little flame in the top corner to explore the other profiles. She grimaces. The first picture to pop up is a shirtless guy smirking at the camera. Karen swipes left.

Drunk guy surrounded by strippers. Left.

Dark haired kid shotgunning a beer. Left.

Smoker. Left.

Scowling at the camera. Left.

Couple looking to have a threesome. Left.

Karen groans. It’s useless. Five minutes of looking through potential ‘suitors’ and she can already tell this isn’t worth it. She’s seconds away from deleting the app when the next guy catches her eye. He’s got short, dark hair and big brown eyes. His profile name is Frank C., and his photo shows him crouched down with a happy grin as he wrestles a blue pitbull. Karen swipes to his next picture. Frank sits at a bar table with a dark-skinned man, deep in conversation. The third picture is Frank in dress blues.

“Wow,” she breathes, scrolling down. The description reads: _pit bull dad, human dad, divorced and not hung up. Not looking for a fling. Message me, let’s chat._

She swipes right, holds her breath, and then lets it out. No match.

Karen tosses her phone on the couch, and decides to take a long, hot shower. Then she’ll come back and delete the app.

\--

Frank steps into his apartment, arms full of groceries, as his phone begins to ping. He deposits the bags on the kitchen counter and pulls the phone from his back pocket. There’s a notification from Tinder, the first since he tucked the app away a week ago, dismissing it from his mind.

**Someone liked you! Swipe to find out who!**

“What the—oh, shit. Lieberman.” Frank rolls his eyes, but curiosity has him opening the app.

Karen P. looks up at him. She’s gorgeous, with long blond hair and intense blue eyes. He swipes through her pictures; writing with intense concentration; dolled up to the nines in a midnight satin in some ballroom; posed but laughing with two pretty girlfriends.

_This is ridiculous,_ he thinks. _I don’t need an app to find a date._

He swipes right anyway.

\--

When Karen steps out of her steamy bathroom, she’s made up her mind. _I’m going to delete the app,_ she tells herself firmly. _And if I want to date, then I’m going to find someone in person._

When she reaches the couch, her phone is already lit up. On the screen is a text from Jess, an email from Ellison, and there at the bottom—a Tinder notification.

**Frank C. has matched you!**

Karen’s eyes widen. She swipes open her phone and comes face to face with an empty conversation screen.

“Now what?” She asks the empty air of her apartment. She’s never done something like this before—it feels a little like cold-calling. Is she even supposed to wait and see if he messages first? What is the etiquette for matching? What does she _say_?

_Hi_ , she types, then frowns and deletes it. _Hey,_ she tries again, but that seems too casual. She finally settles on _what’s your dog’s name? He looks like such a sweetheart!_ and sits back to wait.

\--

  
KP: ~~Hi~~ … ~~Hey~~ … What’s your dog’s name? He looks like such a sweetheart!  
  
FC:  ~~Thanks~~ … Yeah, he is. Name’s Max -  he came with it, unfortunately.

KP: Rescue? Bonus points. Also, I think “Max” kind of fell out of style years ago, so it’s pretty original now... In... ~~an ironic~~ a hipster kind of way. :)

FC: Good way to look at it. Got any dogs?

KP:  ~~I wish!~~... ~~If only~~ … No, sadly I work WAY too much for a dog. But I always have treats on hand when I go jogging. Just in case.

FC: Sounds like you’re a person in disguise, then. Profile says journalist—which paper?

KP:  ~~it doesn’t mat~~ … The Bulletin.

…  
  
FC: ~~Holy Shit i read your stuff~~ … Are you Karen Page?

…  
…

KP: Uhh, yeah…you gonna stalk me? Lol

FC:  ~~Not so much.~~ Wouldn’t think of it.  I liked your article the other day—about ~~that asshole in the state house~~...the governor.

KP: Thank you! I want to wake people up to the fact that he’s stealing PUBLIC money right under our noses. He’s ~~an asshole~~ … a snake.

KP: Yikes, sorry. I get a little fired up.

FC: Nah, passion kind of comes with the job right?

FC: And you’re right—he is a ~~royal asshole~~... snake.

\--

Karen wakes the next morning before her alarm and reaches for her phone. A new Tinder notification makes her grin.

Last night, after two hours of trading messages, Frank politely dismissed himself. He mentioned that he worked early in the morning and it was a pleasure talking to her. He hadn’t asked for her number, nor had he asked for a date. Karen isn’t sure if she’s glad he didn’t, or if she’s disappointed.  

She opens her new message and wiggles her toes as she reads. _It was nice talking to you last night—hope the words come easy today._

Just as she’s typing out a reply, her alarm buzzes. Karen curses and shuts it off, vowing to answer Frank later.

\--

“Have you used it? Tell me you’ve used it,” David pleads over the sound of typing.

Frank cradles his phone in the crook of his shoulder as he tears open his sandwich bag. It’s hot today, but the clouds offer brief opportunities for shade. Wind cools the sweat beading on his forehead. Frank swings his legs out over the edge of the roof, as the background sounds of construction work rise on the breeze. “Uh…yeah. I tried it.”

There’s a sudden pause in typing. Frank can practically see David’s delighted expression. “And?”

“And I had a match,” Frank answers, taking a bite of his sandwich. David doesn’t need to know he hadn’t bothered looking at any other profiles yet—Karen is bright and charismatic, even over messenger.

“Ugh, you know I hate when you eat on the phone.”

Frank huffs through his mouthful. “You called _me_ on _my_ break.”

“Yeah, yeah. So? It’s been over a week. When did you match? Have you gone out with her?”

Frank chews thoughtfully. He had considered asking Karen out last night, but something held him back. That same something told him she might say no, or not take him seriously, or maybe their careful avoidance of personal topics was the only thing keeping the conversation afloat. It was the same thing that reminded him that it had been years since he’s dated—what if he’s not good at it anymore?

“Uh, no. Not yet.”

David groans. “You’re killing me, Frank. Listen, what do you have to lose?”

Frank grunts his assent. David talks for a couple more minutes, then hangs up to let Frank enjoy his break. Frank opens up his dating app and glances over his conversation history with Karen. She hasn’t answered his message from this morning yet—although that could be for any number of reasons. He can only imagine what the day-to-day of a journalist looks like. He assumes there’s not a lot of time for messaging strangers online.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he closes out of the app.

\--

Karen falls onto her couch with a groan, kicking her heels off. It’s been a long, hellish day and she slowly sips a generous glass of cabernet as a reward. Between two interviews, three articles submitted for review, and two meetings, there had been hardly any time to breathe.

She savors her wine for another moment, before a thought clicks into place.

“Oh, shit,” she sighs, “I never replied.”

Her reply is as she left it this morning. She rereads his message and types out her response:

KP: Sorry, I forgot to reply this morning - crazy busy day. It was nice talking to you too!

FC: Nah, it’s fine. I didn’t tell you but my friend created this account for me…I’m glad he did. Would never tell him that though.

Karen laughs, surprised.

KP: That’s weird, my friend made mine, too. I had my doubts.

FC: Well, _my_ friend was on my ass about not asking you out.

FC: …I don’t know if I’m ready for that, if that’s okay.

Karen takes another sip of wine and smiles.  They haven’t discussed dating histories or backstories yet, but she can’t say she’s upset by his reluctance.

KP: Going out would make us tried and true Tinder users, wouldn’t it? Not sure if I can handle that yet.

Frank’s reply is lightning fast:

FC: Fine by me. Write anything good I should keep an eye out for tomorrow?

\--

Three days later finds Karen typing furiously on her phone as she waits for her interviewee to show up. The walk from the office to their meeting place had been a nightmare of cat-calls and whistles, which she’s not unaccustomed to--but certainly doesn’t welcome.

Before she can help herself, she’s opened up her app and has shot off a message to Frank.

KP: _Why_ do guys think cat-calls work?

FC: ~~Where did that come fro...~~ The smart ones don’t.

KP: ~~Have you ever ...~~ I refuse to believe every man that does it isn’t smart. The statistics just aren’t there.

FC: I’ve never done it - got coworkers that do.

KP: Oh? Where do you work?

FC: ~~Don’t hate me but...~~ Construction company.

KP: The biggest offenders! Kudos on being a decent human being.

FC: Thanks, I try my best.

KP: Wow, I can hear the sarcasm.

FC: Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a perfect gentleman.

Karen looks up as her interviewee enters the diner, and quickly finishes off her last message before shutting off her phone.

KP: Alright, I believe you. ~~But you’re on thin ice...~~ Gtg!

\--

 

It’s another day and a half before Karen sees a message pop up from Frank on her phone. She’s had a whirlwind of a week, and besides that--she finds herself craving her conversations with Frank more and more. The very idea makes her nervous, and so she decides that she will wait for him to message her next.

A little distance would be good for her--or so she thought.

FC: ~~Hey, how is your day?...~~ Want to hear an interesting fact?

KP: Always. ~~Work is so boring...~~ Entertain me.                          

FC: My daughter reads all of your articles. Found out today.

KP: You have a daughter? She likes my articles??

FC: ~~Is that o...~~ Daughter and a son. Apparently, you’re turning my girl into a little politician.

KP: That’s so cute!! How old is she?

FC: Fifteen. She wants to start working on her school paper.

KP: I love it. I’m starting to feel like supergirl.

FC: You should, they’re great articles. Can’t think of a better role model.

Karen smiles, and dives into her work with a little more rigor than before.

\--

“Karen.”

Karen looks up from her phone, blinking. “Hey, Ellison.” She quickly exits out of her current conversation with Frank and sets her phone aside. “You have something for me?”

Ellison nods, pushing up his glasses. “I need you to do a piece on the new Veterans building going up in midtown. Jackson’s out with the flu and it has to be done today.”

“Sure, email me the details.”

“Already sent. I want you to interview the site manager. His name’s Curtis. Just get a few feel-good quotes and some stuff about unity or whatever.”

Karen laughs. “Specific. I’ll handle it.”

“Sounds good. They’re expecting you.”

—

The construction site is just what she expected. There are people everywhere, headed in different directions in heavy work boots that kick up dirt with every step. Karen feels wholly over-dressed in her pencil skirt and heels. In the trunk of her car she finds her tennis shoes and slips them on gratefully. No way will she attempt to walk around a construction site in pumps.

Once she’s traded out her shoes, she heads to a group of men gathered around a truck.

“Hi,” she says when they look over, “I’m looking for Curtis Hoyle?”

“Right here. You Karen Page?”

The black man at her right holds out a hand and they shake warmly. He looks bafflingly familiar. “Um, yep, that’s me.” She plasters a smile on her face, trying to place him. “Ready for your Bullletin tell-all, Mr. Hoyle?”

Curtis nods. “Sure. Come on over. I appreciate the sensible shoes—this place is a minefield.”

Curtis leads her over to a picnic table off to the side, sitting down after her. Karen pulls out her tape recorder, considers the sound of drills and hammers, and then grabs her notebook just in case. “Okay, Mr. Hoyle. You’re the project manager here. How does it feel spear-heading such a large project?”

He smiles, wry. “Call me Curt. And it’s an awesome project—I think it’s great that we managed to get funding for this veteran housing. I’m a veteran myself, and most the folks on my team are, too. It’s an honor to be a part of it.”

“And that’s the appeal, isn’t it? Too many vets in this country are so often overlooked and under-appreciated.” Karen pauses. “Thank you for your service, by the way. I didn’t know this was a veteran-based construction group.”

“Well, most of us come back from war in need a little direction. Something to keep us busy.” Curtis laughs, clasping his hands together on the table.

“I believe it. You have a lot of hard workers here. Do you-”

“Hey, Curt,” a new voice interrupts.

They both turn, and Karen stops short at the man jogging up. His short hair, crooked nose, and dark eyes are all-too familiar. It takes all of two seconds to realize _that’s my Tinder match_ and then she remembers where she’s seen Curtis Hoyle before.

In Frank C.’s profile picture.

They locks eye and Frank nearly trips.

“Karen,” he says in shock.

Curtis raises his brows. “You two know each other?”

“Um,” Karen laughs, feeling the flush spread over her cheeks. “Not really. Hi, Frank.”

“Hey.”

Curtis swings his gaze back and forth. Waits. Coughs. “Uhh, alright. What’d you need, Frank?”

“Oh, ah. Lewis needs you - well, needs you to whoop his ass. Pickin’ fights again.”

“Shit. Ms. Page, I’m sorry, do you mind--?” Curtis gives her an apologetic look which she waves away quickly.

“No, no, please. I’ll wait here.”

Curtis thanks her and jogs off, leaving Karen and Frank alone. She shuffles her papers and looks him over in her peripheral vision. His pictures had been accurate, maybe even under-stated. In person, in construction gear, Frank is a whole new ball game. Her eyes drift over Frank’s long legs, strong forearms and broad shoulders. When she meets his eyes, the look he wears is warm and slightly embarrassed. His surprisingly large ears are tinged pink beneath his hard hat.

“So, uh, you stalkin’ me then?” he jokes. Karen flushes at the soft rumble of his voice.

Karen laughs. “This wasn’t in the plan, believe me. I’m still sticking to the ‘not a real Tinder user’ idea.” She pauses, toying with the pen in her hand. She’s struck with an intense case of nerves. “It’s nice to see you in person.”

Frank nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, you too. Shoulda guessed you might show up. Thought you mostly did investigative pieces.”

“I do, usually. Our City Life guy is out sick, so…”

“Ah.” Frank rocks back on his heels. His eyes dart along her shape, then connect with hers again. “Well, uh…Curt might be a minute. Want a tour?”

Karen can’t help her smile. She stands and shoves her recorder, notes and pen back into her bag. “Sounds perfect.”

\--

Frank leads her through the building with the ease of someone who has built the layout by hand. He guides her through the large, open auditorium for presentations, to smaller spaces perfect for VA meetings and support groups. She can practically feel the pride radiating from him as he quietly recites the purposes, and people, the new building will serve. They move from hallways to workspaces and therapy stations, level after level, until they’re standing on the roof and looking out over the city.

“This is the best part,” Frank murmurs. “Standin’ up here.”

Karen steps forward, toeing the edge of the roof. Below, workers mill around like ants. It’s a dizzying view, so she turns to Frank instead. He’s watching her, and there’s something in his gaze that sends warm shivers through her. Karen doesn’t look away, barely blinks as she  walks back towards him. There’s a pressure building somewhere in her chest, something that’s making her a little light-headed. Her hard hat tilts into her eyes, and she reaches up to remove it slowly. Frank’s hand is warm on her wrist when he reaches out to stop her.

“You should probably keep that on,” he tells her. “Safety and liability and shit.”

“This is a really impressive project,” Karen tells him in lieu of an answer, holding his gaze. She lowers her hand and misses his grip when he lets go. “I’m really glad I got assigned to it.”

Frank’s mouth tilts upwards into a slow smile. “Yeah,” he says in a voice like gravel, “I’m glad you were too.”

There’s a moment where Karen thinks she’s going to do something very, _very_ stupid. Then, with a crackle of static, it’s gone. The walkie talkie at Frank’s hip comes to life, making them both jump.

_“Frank, what the hell, man. Did you scare off my journalist?”_

“Ah, no, we’ll be right down,” Frank says quickly into the walkie. The moment of--of _something_ is gone. He gives Karen a look that can only be considered a mixture of disappointed and embarrassed before leading her back downstairs.

Karen smothers her own disappointment, and rubs her wrist where his fingers had been.

 

—

 

Karen chews on the end of her pen, lost in thought. She’s back in her office, nearly an hour after leaving the interview. Her laptop is sitting open in front of her, but she hardly registers the blinking line of the empty Word document on her screen. Her thoughts are elsewhere—still on top of that building with Frank.

The way he had looked at her, like a man who had given up hope until she appeared before him, is still stuck in her mind. She’s been alone for so long, a small part of her thinks she was just imagining it. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, or her lonely heart attempting to reach out to someone else.

She didn’t see Frank again before she leaving the interview. The rest of her conversation with Curtis went smoothly, but even as she spoke with him her eyes flitted around in search of a familiar pair of broad shoulders and warm, dark eyes. Curtis thanked her for the time, and mentioned he’d be looking forward to reading her article.

And now she’s back in her windowless office with no inspiration to start writing, tampering down the instinct to race back across town to the construction site. She half-hopes that Frank with send her a message--and then part of her wonders if he’s waiting for her to strike up a conversation first. She doesn’t.

Karen lets out a sigh, and lets her head meet the hardwood of her desk in exasperation.

She remains like this until someone in the doorway clears her throat. When Karen straightens, there’s an amused looking delivery boy standing in front of her desk. He’s holding a small bouquet of white roses wrapped in brown construction paper. When he’s got her attention, he holds out a clipboard 

“Delivery for Karen Page,” he announces, as if it’s not already obvious.

Karen furrows her brows, signing the form, and then takes the flowers carefully. The delivery boy disappears out her door again, but Karen is too distracted by the note to notice.

_Karen-- I might not be too good at this romance stuff anymore, but I’d be crazy not to try. If you’re interested, I’d be honored to take you out sometime. PS-- technically we met through work. That doesn’t make us “Tinder users”, right? -Frank xxx-xxx-xxxx_

The phone number stares back at her, and Karen feels a slow grin creep it’s way across her face. She’s almost sure that her expression can only be described as maniacal, but she can’t find it in herself to care. She _hadn’t_ been imagining Frank’s interest in her, or the way he had looked at her on the roof.

Karen picks up her phone, and dials the phone number.

 

\-- **EPILOGUE, 3 MONTHS LATER**

 

If there’s one thing that Karen loves about Frank, it’s his hands. Calloused and rough, they dance across her skin with a kind of reverence that shakes her. His fingers trail over her back, under her blouse, dragging up her spine. One hand creeps up and cradles the back of her neck, driving her closer and closer, his breath hot on her lips.

“Frank,” she tries to say, but it comes out a little more whiny than intended. She spreads a hand across his collarbone and pulls back, smiles at the distressed noise he makes. “ _Frank_ , aren’t your kids going to be here soon?”

“We still have some time,” he murmurs, hands sliding down and cupping her ass. He smirks. “Come back here.”

“I don’t think—“

A hurried knock interrupts her. Karen raises a brow as if to say _I told you so_ , and then climbs off of him. Frank runs his hands through his hair with a sigh and stands.

“You ready?”

“Ready to meet your kids for the first time, and possibly ruin your daughter’s good opinion of me and teach her to never meet your heroes early on in life?” Karen laughs nervously, pushing her hair back. “Am I ever.”

Frank pauses a foot away from the door, then turns and comes back. He takes her hand in a firm, reassuring grip. “It’s gonna be okay, Kare. She’ll love you. They both will.”

Another insistent knock. “Dad, we’re here!”

Frank gives her hand one last squeeze, and then goes to open the door. Karen straightens and takes a deep breath. When the door opens, there’s a stunned pause, and then Lisa Castle runs in with bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Oh my god, you’re Karen Page. Oh my god Dad, why is Karen Page here?? Is this the surprise?? Oh my god.”

Frank puts a tempering hand on her shoulder. “Alright, Lis, calm down.”

Behind them is a beautiful dark haired woman, and a young, timid boy that looks Karen over nervously. The woman smiles wide, walking over and holding out a hand. “Karen, hi! I’m Maria. It’s nice to meet you! It was so hard keeping this a secret from Lisa, you’re her hero.”

Lisa doesn’t even bother to argue. “I can’t believe you’re here. This is _awesome_.”

Karen laughs, some of the tension lifting from her shoulders. She smooths back her hair habitually. “Honestly, I’m a little worried I wont match up to her expectations. It’s nice to meet you both. And this must be Frankie, huh?”

Frankie nods, giving her a hesitant smile. “Nice to meet you,” he says meekly.

Lisa is practically vibrating with energy. “Miss Page, Miss Page, can I _please_ interview you for my school paper?”

Karen taps her chin as if considering the idea. “You know...I don’t think I’ve ever been on that side of an interview before…” She pauses for dramatic effect, and then grins at the wide-eyed girl. “That sounds like a great idea!”

Maria huffs a laugh, amused. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, I promise. Frank, can we talk for a minute?”

Frank nods and, after getting a wave from Karen, steps into the hallway. When the door closes, Maria gives him a look between relieved and pleased. “You know, I thought you’d never get back into dating.”

“Aw, come on,” Frank groans, rubbing his neck. He flushes to the tips of his ears and glances away. “You just call me out here to give me a hard time?”

“What! I’m just happy for you. I wanted to make sure you knew that it’s okay.” Maria nudges him, smirking. “I’ve been reading her articles. She’s smart--maybe _too_ smart for you.”

Frank rolls his eyes, unable to fight back his own grin. “Don’t I know it.”

Maria tilts her head curiously. “How did you two meet?” 

His smile is unbridled, infectious, secretive. Frank glances back at the door fondly, listening to Lisa and Frankie’s excited voices, and Karen’s deep laughter.

“Work,” he says finally, as if sharing some inside joke with himself, “we met through work.”

  
  



End file.
